In search of red wine and cheese

Fiona returned from Norfolk the day after I arrived back. She didn't stop once along the way, not even to go to the toilet. "I have an amazing bladder." (Or, as Rachel added, she didn't notice the large damp patch on the seat).

I can't quite recall how it came about exactly. But one afternoon I found myself on the way to Seascale with Rachel in search of red wine and cheese. After a while, Rachel just came out with it. "Your car is not big enough to do a decent impression of a gibbon in." The whole conversation about gibbons started because of the foamy banana shower gel we had bought for Fee-I-ona as part of her birthday present.  I said it would be fun to make her wash in it, and then take her to South Lakes Animal Park to see if the monkeys went crazy for her. I can just picture the scene. 

It was an interesting experience, driving the narrow roads of Eskdale with just Rachel for company. After a while I found myself having difficulty separating reality from the wild, free flowing events of our discussions - I can never be quite sure what really happened. I had to check my car over to make sure I hadn't actually crashed into five blue BMWs (one of them driven by Gandalf the White). There was something else, about upturned umbrellas with a bit of kidney in, that I can say with unwavering certainty - I have never stumbled across in my entire lifetime. It is, I have discovered, outrageously fun when your thoughts no longer pay much heed to what is possible, when these words we have created come together in any old strung along way, and it matters not one jot whether it is real. 

Amidst the pure, mad, times, I find myself afforded moments when my thoughts are slightly more grounded in reality. When I'm grasped by the true transient nature of everything, and most especially the time we have here, the time we have with one another. I wish this would strike me more often than it does, and that I might be filled with a greater urgency for just about everything I feel to be important. I don't want to wake up in the morning not fully acknowledging that I'm alive, I don't want to wait until the end to realise how simple it all was. Nearly a year ago, I lost a dear friend to suicide. There's so much I would do differently now, spend more time chatting, walking, drinking tea - or at least I like to think I would. Death makes life impossible to ignore, and by God I need to remember that. Treasure it all, and be present in every moment.